


don't wanna be alone (when these bones decay)

by indigoveins



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, idk i'm bad at tags, its an AU, lots of pining, there's hints and flashbacks that are indicative of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 14:13:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13412985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigoveins/pseuds/indigoveins
Summary: “My husband is dead,” Harry says. Louis freezes, looking up from the cash register. He drops the roll of quarters in his hands, taken aback.Taking in Harry’s sad eyes and hunched shoulders, he suddenly feels guilty. For what, he isn’t sure, but the feeling is definitely there, settling uncomfortably in his chest.“He’s-- Fuck, I’m so sorry.”Harry’s jawline flickers and he shakes his head.“Don’t be.”Louis frowns. He feels like he’s missing something.“I killed him.”Or the one where despite being complete strangers, Harry gets Louis involved in a murder coverup. What first appears a psychopathic act of vengeance is revealed to be a fearful deed committed by a broken, damaged man, and somewhere along the way, Louis falls in love with him.Featuring Harry as the murderer, Louis as the accomplice, Niall as the concerned neighbor with a particular knack for destroying evidence, Zayn as the environmental attorney who agrees to defend Harry in criminal court, and Liam as the lead prosecuting investigator.





	don't wanna be alone (when these bones decay)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. It never happened and has nothing to do with the individuals mentioned. I do not know any of the people in this story and none of this represents or correlates to their lives in any way. Basically I found a cool prompt online and wanted to see where I could go with it so I inserted them into the idea I had because I'm shit at creating my own characters. If it flops we'll pretend it never happened. 
> 
> Do not translate or repost.
> 
> Title is from the lyrics to Run by Daughter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based very very loosely on the prompt: He’s your favorite customer, buying duct tape, tarps, hacksaw blades, and quicklime, regular as clockwork. A few days after his purchase, someone always goes missing. You know what’s up and ignore it, until one day, he solicits you for off-the-clock help.

In a world of ridiculously high expectations, Louis had grown accustomed to feeling like he was nearly always falling short of something.

He supposed it was partially a generational thing, a product of society’s perpetually progressing expectations that set young people like himself up for imminent failure unless they had a generous trust fund or huge inheritance awaiting them in adulthood. As he aged, he hadn’t neglected to notice how much more difficult it was becoming for people to succeed as the frightening arms of the clock ticked on like an impending bomb.

For his grandparents, the acquisition of a high school diploma set you apart from the crowd and led you into nearly any job you wanted (apart from the few who aspired to be things like doctors and lawyers). People had what they needed to survive, as well as something lavish like a television or radio if they could afford it. You could make a living doing commendable, blue collar work and retire at 65 with enough money to support your family and travel once a year, if you desired. Times were simpler and expectations were lower.

For his parents, it was a bit more complicated, as the social norm became the necessity for a Bachelor’s degree in order to secure a career of choice. More people began studying things that required a university education like business and law, but they made more money as a result. The standard of living increased, and people had multiple televisions and nice clothes in addition to food on the table and a roof over their head. Luxuries became necessities, and consumerism flourished. You had to work for it, but an easy living came to those who were dedicated enough to achieving it.

And for Louis and his fellow millennials, it was simple, yet oh so difficult: a Bachelor’s degree meant nothing and a Masters differentiated you from the crowd and got your resume tossed into the ridiculously tall considerations stack, but without multiple internships, a study abroad trip to Milan, and a plethora of research experience with professors or a thesis dissertation presenting some new, groundbreaking philosophy on the study of some irrelevant theory no one would actually take the time to read, you were shit out of luck. The bar had risen to a point where it was untouchable for even the tallest of people on the tip-toes of their stiletto heels, and only a few lucky bastards who had the luxury of a trampoline or their daddy’s shoulders to use as a boost could reach high enough to graze it with their fingertips. Instead of motivating them, these unattainable standards caused him and his peers to become anxiety-ridden, overworked, and addicted to Adderall. It was really quite unfortunate, something of a Modern Shakespearean tragedy.

So logically, that might have been it. He wasn’t sure, but he realized that it probably didn’t matter anyway. Regardless of the origin, he knew the more pressing issue was the fact that he always felt unfulfilled. Even in his youth, Louis was aware that he desired more than the drab consistency of the everyday endeavors he saw his mum and dad descend submissively into. They were happy, sure; they had a nice house and a beautiful family and enough money to ensure financial security for the rest of their lives, but apart from that, their lives lacked excitement.

He vowed early on to never fall into a life that someone else could dismiss as boring, yet here he is.

Standing behind the counter of the sole register at Bill’s Knicks N Knacks in a worn red smock with a tear in the front pocket and a coffee stain over his left peck, the sensation of unabashed disappointment feels more pronounced than ever.

The thing is, Louis has always been exceptionally bright. He could have been a straight A student if he wanted, but he coasted by on Bs and Cs because it was _easy_ and he _could_ , so why try harder for anything more? (Along with that, teenagers often lack foresight. He never considered that maybe putting a bit more effort into his coursework would benefit him in the long run, but most kids don’t. It’s an honest mistake.) It was simple for him to get accepted into uni and even easier to acquire decent marks, but once he graduated, he found that there was nearly always someone more qualified: a lad with more field experience, a girl with better test scores, a faceless person who had interned under some influential mogul because he or she had family connections.

Despite his intelligence, he found himself in a position where it was difficult to get a job and even harder to keep it, which is how he ended up here in the first place.

Seven months ago, Louis’ future looked nothing but optimistic. He had been contacted by a large bank in London for a sales position they believed he’d be particularly perfect for based on his LinkedIn profile, and after a great phone interview with a member of the managerial staff and an even better one with the senior vice president in person, he was offered a position on their team. Without hesitation, he moved from his hometown to the city into a tiny flat he found advertised on Facebook, taking nothing but his wardrobe and computer. He’d always dreamed of living and working in the city, and for the first time, he saw himself falling into a routine he was immensely excited for.

Unfortunately, he was laid off four months later when the company was affected by a decline in the stock market and they decided to downsize in order to preserve resources.

Recently, he’s tried participating in networking workshops, taking additional courses towards another degree at a local community college, and tutoring poor bastards studying towards their undergrad diplomas in hopes of expanding his resume, but none of it has really done much to help him ascend from the predicament he’s fallen into.  
For now, he’s down on his luck.

On the bright side, in spite of the surplus of negativity overtaking his life lately, he had Bill to help him out.  
Louis came into Bill’s on a Wednesday to escape the rain he had gotten caught in during a coffee run and the two became friends nearly instantaneously. William F. Johnson was an old diabetic man who owned the hardware store on the corner of King’s and 6th Streets. He was barely five feet tall and had an extremely thick German accent and an even thicker pair of horn-rimmed bifocals. He was quirky and a bit temperamental, but he was one of the sweetest people Louis had ever met, and he offered him a job when not even Tesco would call him back to schedule an interview. His wife had died a bit less than a year ago, and with the house to himself, he didn’t have time to work in the shop anymore, which is why he hired Louis in the first place. It worked out great for both of them, because Bill got to spend more time at home with his cats and his grandchildren, and Louis got an easy place to work where he could make enough money to pay rent while he searched for other job openings in the banking industry. Initially, it was meant to be a temporary situation, but it’s been six months and Bill hasn’t made any comments about finding someone else (and Louis hasn’t found any other jobs), so he continues to show up every morning. It’s not the life he wanted for himself, but for now, it’ll do.

One of his favorite parts about working at Bill’s is Harry Styles.

Harry Styles was a quirky, 20-something year old man with a love for Twizzlers and a smile unlike anything Louis had ever seen before. He had beautiful green eyes and the most endearing dimples etched into his cheeks, and Louis thought he was absolutely captivating. Most days, he meandered through the front door around 11 and headed straight to the shelves beside the register where Bill stacked the candy, grabbing a red plastic package of licorice and then dawdling so that he could make small talk with Louis before heading back into the cold. He had a tendency to tell tremendously awful jokes and hardly-clever puns in an effort to make Louis laugh, and as much as he hated to admit it, it had quickly become his favorite part of his work day. Over time, he’d learned to extract bits of information from the adorable enigma that was Harry Styles; he learned that his favorite color was yellow, he had a kitten named Prince Charles, he wrote catchy jingles for commercials for a living, and that more than anything, he loved making people smile.

Fortunately for him, Louis can’t help but to grin whenever he’s around. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaand here we go .... let's see how this works out


End file.
